


Homecoming

by sophiecognito



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiecognito/pseuds/sophiecognito
Summary: There is a moment of hesitation, however brief, when Fran steps into Golmore.





	Homecoming

There is a moment of hesitation, however brief, when Fran steps into Golmore. No one notices, would’ve needed a keen eye to see the deliberate slowness of her step. The stone clacks under her heel after days of the hard ground and grass of Ozmone, echoing a nostalgic rhythm.

The magick and humidity coil around Fran and settles on her fur, a familiar coat of years past. It speaks of home, even if she can’t hear the Wood. It’s her heart that whispers as she scratches the bark. Some of it remains under her nails. 

Balthier is not long to come to her side. Her hand still rests on the tree as she feigns surveillance. Age and distance has not dulled her memories. She knows the snaking path and she’s certain that it hasn’t changed. Nothing touches the Golmore. Not time, not humes, not the course of history. 

The look he shoots Fran is inquiring. One of her ears flicker in his direction to assuage the worry hidden in the quirk of his eyebrow. There are other worries he smothers for this instance; if only she could snuff them away as well. Nethicite eats through his thoughts, his mask coming undone, but it’s a past she doesn’t ask about, only knows from what little he divulged. His brow smoothes, reassured monetarily, as the party ventures on.

Sigils obstruct and create a path of their own which they follow without choice. The heart of the jungle is locked away and even her magicks cannot break through, too ancient a magick. Compared to humes, Fran’s knowledge is as vast as the ocean, but here she likens it to a shallow pond. She blinks slowly. Of the three sisters, she’d been the poorest mage, both her sisters excelling in magecraft. The sigils are Jote’s work, that much she can tell.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get through the jungle?” Penelo asks, suddenly at her side. While Vaan’s the one who Balthier calls thief, Penelo’s the one graced with the silent step for the task. Her dagger’s not drawn, when it should be. Hands clasped, she waits for the answer and Fran feels the eyes and ears of the group on her. 

For a while, she walks in silence. The forest is not long to fill it with the slow slide of malboros to the east, the echoing chittering of gargoyles hiding in the canopy to strike them soon, the soft purr of the stalking coeurl. Once, she would’ve been part of the cacophony, one with the Wood. 

She doesn’t know if she misses that.

Despite it all, there is one ever present sound that her ears are deaf to now. She also doesn’t know if she misses it, but the sentiment is a blindness. Seldom both traits a hunter makes.

“Not with Golmore in such a state,” Fran answers, her finger rippling a passing sigil. The coolness of its magick solidifies that it’s really Jote and her need to stave off intruders. They’d chosen the jungle as the most direct route to the holy mount. She expected resistance, the usual ones she knows the group could overcome, but this…

It was not in her to falter, yet as the choice presents itself, Fran does. She can only see one slim solution to this obstacle as she slows to a stop in front of the largest sigil. It thrums out a warning. 

“The jungle denies us our passage,” Fran lies. 

Jote is resolute in her choice, that much was clear in her departure, but not Mjrn. What one sister makes, another unmakes. She will know how to dispel it. Sweet Mjrn, who quietly confessed a yearning for the outside like Fran so long ago. Sweet Mjrn that should have never said so. And here she is, contemplating on how that longing will help the hume world. Perhaps this selfishness is why she cannot hear the Wood, she thinks.

This time Ashe approaches, cranes her neck to meet Fran’s eyes. “What have we done?” 

“We? No, I.” 

A moment of melodramatic self-importance escapes her as she turns away. Purpose rings clear in the forest, drowning out shouted questions. Her life in the hume world has left her previous life untouched, tucked in a box out of reach. Hume matters shouldn’t touch Fran unless she lets them, shouldn’t touch Eryut because she makes it so, but her feet guide her to its path. A hume world, a hume journey and it seems it’s only her that knows the magnitude of it. 

Balthier follows on her heels, ask her what she’s doing. Muscle memory leave the air singed in orange and the motions never really left, did they. She avoids Balthier’s gaze, just like Ashe’s before to focus on her task. What she would be, to say what she feels; she’s not sure herself.   
Also a lie, that. She knows the feelings crawling in her heart, but refuses to name them, for once.

Instead she chastises Balthier, as she always does. An nudge to get his thoughts to the forefront, to admit about what lurks beneath. Tis better this way. Enough to tangle him in his own past and out of hers. 

That’s enough time to finish. Fran holds her breath. An Unexpected homecoming but one nonetheless. 

The path blooms before her.

**Author's Note:**

> I let a brief prompt carry me all the way here. I'm not exactly happy with it, but I haven't written in so long so here ya go haha. I wanted to try and write Fran. She's a very hard voice to pin down so I wanted a challenge. I might edit it later on hmm


End file.
